Holiday Hauntings
by everyone'ssister
Summary: AU for 13.09. Sam and Dean find Jack but it's so close to Christmas the boys decide to book a room for the holidays in a old Victorian hotel...of course they aren't so lucky as to stay somewhere that's not haunted.
1. Chapter 1

HOLIDAY HAUNTINGS

Chapter 1.

 _Christmas Day_

 _It's a beautiful cold day. The air is clear and sharp in Sam's lungs, burns as he breathes in and out fast, running through the woods down hill. There's only one thought in his mind: Dean Dean Dean Dean...get to Dean. All he can hear is his thudding heart and pounding footfalls, fir tree branches fly by in a blur, sweeping branches leave stinging scratches on his cheeks._

 _He can see the clearing ahead. The stone gazebo comes into view, vines growing up it covering most of the rock, the floor though is there still cinder burned, black marks licking up the sides of the columns proof of the terrible tragedy so many years ago. The ground is soft and wet, the morning still new, foggy and dusky blue. Sam's breath clouds in front of him as he arrives, standing panting, eyes sharp and frantically searching his brother out._

 _He spots the pale, white specter floating gracefully above the muddy earth, dusty rags tossing in the bitter winter wind. She's the classic ghost, terrifying and old, white caked skin and eyes surrounded by black, raven hair sweeping past her waist and matted into long flat pieces. Her anger had been festering long, and the smell of death and decay follows her, spots of mold and dampness eating away at her skin._

 _Sam finds his brother's figure at the steps of the gazebo, his body is prone, blood growing under his temple lying against the edge of the top step. Shit. He moves to rush to his brother's side but as soon as he steps forward to enter the circle of the clearing around the gazebo he hits what feels like a wall._

 _He hisses in pain, his eyes watering with the impact. He puts his hand out, then the other both fists thudding frantically against the invisible barrier. Jack comes up panting behind him, couldn't have possibly kept up with Sam's long legs as the younger Winchester flew to his brother with the tug on his soul strings. The boy's eyes widen at the scene before him._

 _Sam screams in frustration and terror and the ghost turns and flashes a malevolent grin, her calm float drifting towards Dean._

 _"Don't you dare go near him, you Bitch!" He screams, banging his fists into the protective force field she's placed around her sanctum. "Get your disgusting hands off him!"_

 _She smiles slyly at Sam again, as she runs long cold fingers down Dean's still features and then into the blood pooled on the stone. She slips two blood coated fingers into her dark slim mouth, and sucks the precious liquid off, flashing her now crimson teeth at the younger Winchester._

 _"He's mine." She says, voice eerie and high, floating and echoing in the wind, "You will never see him again." She moves in Sam's view, his brother disappears from his sight, covered by the dirty white rags of the ghost._

 _"Dean!" He screams, "Dean wake up! Let him go!" He's ceaselessly pounding on the barrier, doesn't notice his blood splatter in thin air from split knuckles on the invisible wall._

 _"Dean you have to wake up for me...please!"_

. . .

Two days till Christmas

The impala speeds down the road, music blaring, they'd probably get pulled over if they met a cop. It's Christmas music and not the classic kind...loud new age Christmas music Sam didn't even know existed he wanted to that Dean was somehow getting down to. His brother, on the other hand, is beside him one lazy hand on the wheel and perfectly content.

He's crunching on thin ginger cookies he'd brought from the last gas station and humming along to whatever in hell this new torture is. Sam rubs his forehead and sips the apple cider Dean had bought him. Man, Dean was a sly one. He knew if he bought a nice drink for Sam the younger brother wouldn't ask him to turn the music off.

Sam rolls down his window just a bit thinking maybe he could let out some of the building sound waves he's currently being ear raped with. Dean turns and flashes him a smile nodding his head like, "You like it and you know it."

Sam's going to shoot himself.

The only thing keeping him sane is the new lead they have on Jack. A report of a strange young man turning streets lights off and on with his mind...yeah that sounded like Jack. And boy, Sam would be glad when they got him back. He could practice with his powers all he wanted, but he did need to be _just a little bit_ more inconspicuous.

If creeping out some snooty neighborhood moms was all the nephilim had done Sam would count that as a huge win.

Dean cruises down the street slowly, the engine rumbling making kids playing in the snow on both sides of the street stop and stare. Dean waves at them serenely, not at all embarrassed by the total chick flick sappy Christmas song crooning from his badass car's speakers.

Sure enough standing in front of one particularly over-decorated house is Jack. The Christmas lights are flashing off and on and there's a woman standing in the bay windows watching him talking on the phone. Dean stops the car and they both get out slowly approaching the dangerous kid.

"Jack," Sam calls, "Hey it's us, Dean and Sam."

Jack jumps a little like he didn't realize they'd driven up but his sunny smile is clear and genuinely pleased to see them. "I knew you guys would find me soon enough."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Glad to save you all the leg work, sport."

Sam gives a look, saying now wasn't the time for sarcasm. Dean clears his throat and scratches his nose walking up to Jack fully relaxed. Sam realizes Dean honestly isn't scared of the nephilim...wow when had they switched places? Once Dean decided to put his faith in someone he never stopped, Jack now had a life long friend and protector. He believed Jack wasn't evil and he was willing to give him a chance to explain.

"I have a lot better control of my powers now." Jack states, and the Christmas lights turn off and stay off, his holds up one finger. "And also, I'm confused...what is this 'Christmas'?" His confused face is so adorable, like a cute non-warrior Cas.

"Are ya saying you're ready to come back home now?" Dean asks, sighing heavily. Not liking being played into coming and fetching Jack when he felt like he was ready.

Jack nods, "But Dean..."

Dean places a hand on his back and pulls him towards the impala, "They called the cops on you we got to go."

Jack snorts, "I didn't even do anything."

"We know," Sam consoles, "They just don't know there're people like you who can do 'stuff'."

Dean shuts the door behind him and just shrugs to Sam's 'wtf' eyes, and sits in the driver's seat shutting the door, Sam follows and Dean easily navigates them out the offended neighborhood and out onto a quiet road.

"So...what is Christmas?" Jack asks, breaking the silence. His eyes bright and inquisitive, definitely Sam and Dean's favorite part about clueless angels, they picked fun with Cas to no end and now they had Jack to tease.

"What is Christma..." Dean rubs his temples, "This poor kid."

"What?" Jack asks, looking between the two of them.

"It's not something you can really explain," Dean says, "You kinda got to see it for yourself."

"Well, let's go!" Jack says exuberantly, bouncing in his seat.

Dean laughs, "No, it's not somewhere you go, it's something you do and feel, it's something you celebrate together with family and friends...Sammy, we definitely have to do this right..."

"Dean...I don't know what you're thinking, but no." The younger Winchester draws the line right then.

"Don't listen to Sam, Jack, he's a regular grinch."

"A grinch?" Jack asks, head cocked to the side.

"A movie that we are going to watch," Dean offers as explanation.

Sam groans.

"Jack's first Christmas is going to be epic!" The older Winchester nearly yells.

"Dean..." Sam starts.

"Sam."

Dean flashes him a look that says no argument he could give would ever win. Sam sighs. "I'm going to find us somewhere Christmasy to stay since it's too close to Christmas to do it properly at the bunker," Dean decides. "We need movies, cookies, eggnog, a Christmas tree...but eggnog, lots and lots of eggnog."

"What's eggnog?" Jack asks.

"God help us all." Sam moans.

...tbc

Welcome to the annual winter hellatus fic! REVIEW WHO'S EXCITED!? ;);):):)

(((Also for the guest who requested hurt!Dean. And because I love writing holiday fics. :) )))


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Per Dean's instructions Sam looks up on his phone 'high' class accommodations near by. The best thing he can find is a historic Victorian style mansion that had been renovated into a hotel. Even he will admit the pictures online of their holiday decorations and food are inviting. He hands Dean the directions, who studies the map for point one second before handing Sam his phone back.

Sam hopes they don't get lost, though, to be fair, Dean had never gotten them lost before. But you know their luck...not the best and seemed to enjoy screwing them over. Dean steps up the Christmas music a notch, something Sam would have presumed impossible.

Jack is easy going as usual, anything new his eyes devour it up and tuck it away in his brain...including the music much to Sam's dismay. They pull up in front of the grand old building and Dean stops under the covered entrance. A concierge greets them much to their surprise and Dean's ultimate delight.

He even hands over the impala's keys with only one growled warning. Sam pays at the desk and Dean and Jack circle the HUGE Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. It is beautiful and tasteful even Sam must admit as he moves to join his brother. The lights are generously distributed and the red, green and gold ornaments are perfect with shining star on the top. Jack's big eyes sparkle and reflect the lights, Dean of course must touch.

"You're going to break something." Sam hisses. Dean sends him a mild glare and touches the sparkly red gift shaped ornament. Nothing happens and Dean gives him a triumphant look. He rolls his eyes at the lessening maturity levels and sets to examining the walls covered in framed pictures.

This hotel is just his sort of place. The frames display old newspaper articles from years and years ago about occupants of the house. It was a family estate each generation living in the general pomp and luxury of the great house. Some of the family heirs were stately, honorable types, others were spoiled playboys.

Until in 1930 the House was passed down to a female for the first time. Lana Wagner was gorgeous. Sam was stuck momentarily on her black and white portrait in the painting hanging high on the wall. Odd color choices for a painting but it was artistic and haunting in a way that sent shivers down Sam's spine.

The next newspaper reports a rumor that Lana was in fact a practicing witch and three months after she inherited her fortune she was dragged from her grand home and burned to death by unknown persons. Sam shivers more intensely. He glances nervously around. He hadn't sensed any entities, or evil presences and usual he could.

Not to mention Dean's instincts would have immediately flared, his brother wouldn't have been able to rest let alone circle a Christmas tree like a dazzled puppy. He shakes off the ominous feeling and decides not to tell Dean about his discovery. He motions them to come on and together they navigate the wide staircase up, up, up to their room.

Stain glass windows rise with the staircase all the way, sending a spectacular show of sun rays all over the floor and their bodies. Jack turns his hand, waving his fingers around watching the light dance with each movement.

"Awesome." Dean says, finding the pictures in the stained glass of historical buffalo and caribou hunts.

"Awesome." Jack echoes, still transfixed with the rainbow of colors dappled over his skin.

"C'mon you two." Sam says drily, leading the way and finding their door number. The room is all the way at the end of the hall. It opens up into a huge circular room of the east wing with more stained glass windows. The middle of the room is set up with three sofas and a coffee table, a big Christmas tree resides by the fireplace where two old timey cigar chairs sit.

There are two doors on the left side of the room, one leads to the bathroom, which Dean inspects crowing at the size of the lavish tub, and the other to the bedroom decked out with two double bed made up immaculately. And to Sam's disgust another slightly less elaborate tree.

Dean and Jack drop their bags in the floor and sprawl out each on a sofa, kicking off their shoes and propping socked feet up the arm rests. Sam toes off his boots in the bedroom and leaves his duffle on the floor at the foot of the bed farthest from the door. At least he and Dean would get some good rest for once maybe.

The house was absolutely silent. Almost too silent. But when with Dean; appreciate small moments of quiet. He pads out into the leaving space and Dean looks over to flash a contented grin at him.

"Hit the lights will you Sam, come and sit down and enjoy the ambiance." He cuddles down as deep as he can into the sofa.

Sam snorts. Shaking his head, unaware Dean even knew the word ambiance. However he does turn out the lights, and sits down with his brother and their newest addition. And it is nice. Really freaking nice, he finds himself slipping off to sleep before too long, the last thing he sees is the satisfied, 'I told you so' look on Dean's relaxed face as all goes dark and he becomes blissfully warm and ignorant.

. . .

Dean wakes up from a deep sleep cold. The fire has died down and he's alone in the room. _Great_ , he thinks, _Sam gave Jack my bed_. He rises and yawns running his hands through his disarrayed hair, he grabs two logs and positions them in the fire. Enjoying the quickly heating blaze.

He backs up a little to sit in one of the big chairs, but he still leans forward, elbows on his knees to let the warmth of the fire wash over him, he can feel the flames in his eyes, dazing him and bringing sleep back quickly.

A creak makes him jump. A creak like one of those old chairs that the cushions are woven out of straw. There by the fireplace between the chimney and the wall sits one such chair and in it an indiscernible figure. Only from habit of many past life threatening situations Dean doesn't jump out of his socks.

"What the hell?" He asks, standing slowly and taking a few cautious steps forward.

"I don't like the fire hot." A mellow but airy, feminine voice sounds. The figure shifts and dark hair sways giving Dean better perception; white dusty robes, even whiter skin and a flash of dark, dark, haunted eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me." Dean complains drily.

"The fire is too hot!" She say louder more demanding. Dean only frowns

"Look lady, this is my room and I'm cold, so back the hell off if you're too hot." Dean says, making a shooing motion with his hand. He's here for Christmas and damn if he's going to cater to the resident ghost! Sam's always saying there's good supernatural beings right? She's probably not even _that_ dangerous.

Lady ghost cocks her head to one sides and peers at Dean through her matted strands of hair. "You..." She contemplates her words, "Are different from others." This man didn't seem repelled or enchanted by her, but simply... _bored_.

"Expecting screaming and freaking out and doubting my sanity? Yeah," Dean snorts, "Not happening. So do me a favor and go haunt another room while we stay here."

"But this is my room." She contradicts firmly.

"Not any more." Dean yawns, "Spoiler alert; you're dead."

She frowns at that and goes silent, hands clasped in her lap and looking at her toes which are dirty and curled on the hard wood flooring. Dean can imagine Sam's frowning disapproval at the cruelly blunt newsflash. Maybe it was a bit harsh, not wanting a fire too hot did seem like a perfectly sensible sentiment.

"Look, I'm sorry," He says, a hand on the back of his neck, "But you know we all got to go sometime, don't we?" He flashes her a tired smile and falls back into the chair his toes warming with the flames.

"Yes we do." The ghost muses, sparkling eyes through hair fixed on him again. "Some of sooner than late, and before our time."

"Hmm." Dean agrees, gaze on the fire, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully.

Her eyes sharpen...what an extraordinary man. And here he is...if she seals his fate the same as hers she would never be alone again. This room...her room. _What an appropriate place to meet you, my love,_ she thinks as her form turns into mist and drifts away.

Dean sighs with relief and curls back up on his couch little knowing though her form is gone, the lady ghost's spirit stays by him all night.

...tbc

Yaaa! I finally got a chapter out! *sobbing with relief* I'm so sorry for the wait. Have patience with me guys...I'm super busy and sick so yeah, I'm struggling a little.

REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE!? ;););)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

Christmas eve

Sam wakes feeling amazing. Rested and relaxed and ready for a slow day with his brother and their young charge. He sighs sitting up and grabs his phone to find the time. Shit, already nine o'clock. There was no way Dean was still asleep or in their rooms, his brother couldn't stay still long, on a good night he slept six hours and then he was itching to be up and on the move.

Sam runs a hand over his face yawning and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. The bed beside his is empty, sheets sloppily pulled up and he shakes his head visions of Dean and Jack wandering around the huge house breaking things, exploring, and sniffing out food like dogs.

He pulls on the jeans from last night, and his jacket over his long sleeved t-shirt and opens the door leading out of the bedroom. It's quiet and deserted as expected, the fire crackles in the fire place, sunlight streaming in on the floor and furniture in different colors through the stain glass windows. He sighs walking towards the table where his shoes sit on the floor, he grabs the note there left for him while he slips his feet into his warm boots.

"Didn't you read about the eight o'clock breakfast, big bird? Hurry up."

Sam purses his lips into a thin line at the name, shakes his head, begrudging the smile it brings him as he slips out of their room, locking the door behind him. He goes down the hall, almost breaks his neck as he trips on the carpeted stairs. He comes to a dead stop at the landing half way down the stairs where they turn directions.

The window is huge, long panels of stained glass reaching the floor. There in front of them stands a woman. Even if Sam hadn't seen a million ghosts in his life time he would have known she was one. Her pale white garments were dusty and transparent, her skin was pasty and deathly white, her hair was dark and matted but when she turns her head to observe him, through the curtain of black hair, her eyes are disturbingly clear.

That was new. Sam had never met a spirit with such alive and present eyes. They sparkled and gleamed with intelligence and curiosity as she looks him down and meets his gaze, testing him. She frowns and tilts her head to one side a little dramatically, resulting in a squishing, disgusting sound, making Sam internally grimace as she takes a step towards him.

"You're not afraid?" She asks, voice low and raspy but still melodious and feminine somehow.

"No." Sam answers, not giving up any ground.

"You came here with him." She says more to herself then anything. "Hunters..." her eyes take on something more dangerous than before and she steps away one step this time. "Of all the irony...he's a hunter."

Sam is confused, hasn't the least idea what she's talking about but decides as his stomach growls that it little matters. They are on break, on vacation...just trying to make the most out of the hated holidays.

"Look lady, you got nothing to fear from us unless you hurt us...so just stay away and we'll all be good."

She laughs lightly and Sam shivers, something in his bones itching for some salt or iron. He ignores it, she hasn't done anything...yet.

"I'm not afraid of you." She hisses before disappearing into a thin mist Sam waves away before he continues on his way. There's a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he recognized her from somewhere, and that she hadn't seemed entirely friendly.

He shakes his head, quickly going to find Dean, if she thought she could pull one over on the Winchesters she had something else coming to her.

. . .

"Sammy!" Dean exclaims laying eyes on his younger brother from where he sits at the head of a ridiculously long wood dining table. There's a luxurious spread of food in front of him and Jack waves from his seat to Dean's left, mouth packed full of, judging by his plate, bacon and maple syrup. That boy really has a sweet tooth, Sam thinks randomly.

"Dean did you..." the elder Winchester can read that pensive look and set of shoulders from a mile away.

"...meet a creepy edgy ghost lady? Yes." He goes ahead and breaches the subject. He pats the seat on his right, "Sit, eat. She didn't seem dangerous so I vote we let it rest. Not even a ghost is gonna kill someone on Christmas."

Sam takes the same view, sighing as he falls into the seat watching Dean fill his plate from the covered silver serving dishes. He chuckles tiredly, "Our luck is preposterously bad."

Dean snorts, "I know right? I guess that's what we get as hunters for choosing to stay in a two hundred year old house."

Sam shrugs, "Fair enough."

Dean points his knife to Sam's full plate. "Eat up so we can go explore."

 _Yup_. Sam mentally congratulates himself on correctly guessing how his brother planned on spending his very short vacation. _And now me too apparently,_ he fondly rolls his eyes. He knew deep down he wouldn't want it any other way.

. . .

The house is a maze of halls and elaborately furnished rooms all of which hold something Dean must touch and study. Jack, as always follows his example. They sneak around feeling suspicious for some reason, avoiding staff even though they have yet to run into anyone in the halls. They ramble aimlessly for a while, both Winchester's enjoying the unhurried feeling of it. Answering Jack's questions and stopping in a dark wood furnished room lined with bookshelves as Dean spots decanters sparkling in the fire light.

Sam thinks it's strange for a fire to be burning in only this room and one that was so far away from the occupied part of the house. But he thinks nothing more of it as they enter and Dean pours all three of them a finger of the age old looking liquor while Sam advances to study the bookshelves by the fireplace.

"Thanks." He says, sharing a small, happy smile with Dean as he hands him the crystal glass. They clink their glasses together and Sam sips on the burning drink as he runs fingers over the spines of the books. Old doesn't even start the cover it. None of the other artifacts or books in the house seemed so old. Even back in the days of the last owner these books must have been rare editions. He marvels at them until he finds that he's slipped into a different genre of books all together.

Occult.

That niggling feeling comes back full throttle and he turns to call Dean only to find his brother gone, Jack is still standing there looking through a huge old atlas book curiously.

"Jack, where'd Dean go?" He asks, walking into the center of the room and turning around in circles baffled.

"I don't know." Jack says, looking infinitely confused too. "He was just right here."

Sam chants mentally to himself over and over again there's no call for his rising panic.

. . .

Sam turns his back to Dean, his attention back to the dusty old books. He doesn't mind, this, after all, is their norm. Dean sips on the scotch reveling in the aged smoothness and spice. Jack is buried in a book too and he shakes his head at the lameness of his companions...he wants to explore, find a secret passage, maybe a forgotten skeleton or something more exciting.

Then he spots her standing just outside the door to the room in the hallway. The lady ghost with the attitude. Their eyes connect and she motions with her hand for him to come. She walks away disappearing and Dean hurries to the door to watch her walk down the hall. He looks over his shoulder at Sam still thoroughly absorbed in the books so he follows her curiously.

He's a little on guard but not much...he'd met much scarier actual human beings then her.

She stops in front of a door, obviously the room next to the one he'd gotten his drink from. She opens the door and floats in and he isn't far behind. The room is cold and dark. Windows letting in cold lonely light. The fireplace is cold and empty the tables and chairs covered in dust, cobwebs hanging from the drapes and the chandeliers.

On the mantel piece is a painting of a beautiful young woman, done all in black and white, weird Dean thinks. But artful and haunting in a way too. On either side of the portrait are two tall candle sticks and standing in the middle of the mantel in front of the painting is an urn.

Dean's stomach twists unpleasantly and he looks at her questioningly. She nods.

"What's left of me in this world." She floats to stand still in front of the dark fireplace with her head down... "This used to be one of the happiest warm places of the house. Then they brought my ashes here and left me to rot!"

The fire and malice in her tone takes Dean aback. He looks around, trying to think of something to say. He freezes as the reality of his surroundings finally wash over him. On the floor, on the tables, on the chairs and sofas were what seemed like hundreds of urns. All sitting in a layer of dust, all silently keeping each other in dreary company...

"None of them ever stayed..." she says mournfully catching his gaze fixed upon them. "So now their ashes must stay with mine forever."

"What are these?" Dean asks, hoping beyond hope he's wrong, hoping she's really not a vengeful spirit, not a danger...that he's not in danger.

"Others." She says simply, sparkling eyes fixed on him intensely.

"Others? Others...what does that mean?" Dead asks, slowly backing up towards the door. She follows his every movement eyes measuring him and summing him up...he feels a sweat breaking out on his skin.

"Others...who died like me."

...tbc

Is the ghost killing people? Or what? REVIEW!?:):):);););)

Hi guys! So sorry about the huge wait in this story, I kno you prolly don't want my excuses but here they are...

I have ten siblings...we all got the flu, including my dad, the week before Christmas. Every single one of us, and the sickness wasn't joking around it whooped all our butts. I was also suffering from a different ailment at the same time and with a lot of holiday choir practices and responsibilities at church and with my family...no writing happened. But *sigh* I'm back. I hope to finish this up before SPN comes back in two weeks! Wish me luck! ;))


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Sam rushes out of the room and stands, chest heaving in the hallway looking both ways. "Dean?!" He yells, Jack follows him out and they both hurriedly walk down the hall looking in doors...the feeling of coldness and trepidation making the hair on the back of Sam's neck standing up the worst feeling, Sam knows and trusts it; something isn't right.

He runs hands through his hair, gripping the ends, huffing in frustration, mind partially clouded with fear.

"Sam!"

He turns around in a millisecond, Dean stands where they had searched not seconds before behind them. Sam ignores the strangeness of it in favor of the sweet relief washing through him. He and Jack rush to his side, however tension fills the air as the ghost Sam had met earlier appears behind him. Head down, fists clenched, the aura of fury around her truly terrifying.

"Hunters!" She hisses, "I know the kind all too well." Dean stiffens at that, but Sam knows she's already figured it out.

"I thought we agreed to leave each other alone." He interjects, hands out placatingly.

"You didn't leave me alone! All I wanted to do was to live in peace..." Sam and Dean watch as her form darkens and she rises off the ground higher. The insanity of years spent between this life and the next held captive by her anger and regrets is sharp in her eyes, making them aglow and wild. They both know her anger and bitterness towards hunters is confusing them with the men who most likely killed her.

The temperature drops in the hall. The lights flicker off and an otherworldly cold, bluish light animates from her chest. They take a step back as she hovers over them, pressing Jack behind them against the wall protectively, Dean's arm in front of Sam pressing him farther away.

"Stay away from us, you bitch!" Dean roars at her. The slap she gives him rings out in the still, cold quiet. The sting of it leaves his eyes watering and blurring, the breath knocked from him momentarily.

"Don't grow foolhardy in your remarkable fearlessness." She whispers, eyes wide and fixed on him in her tilted head, floating towards him slowly and wrapping a slender, rotting hand around his neck. Choking, Dean wraps his hands around her wrist trying to pull the strangling grasp from blocking his airway.

Sam watches the whole exchange in slow motion, his mind scrambling for some kind of weapon or idea for escape. They were no match for such an angry, powerful spirit, not armed with anything except like she said, their stupid bravery. Dean's chest is heaving and his eyes falling closed...her eyes fixed on his struggles and last gasping breathes, fascinated and dark.

Sam reaches into his pocket feeling the crumbled remains of some rock salt he'd left there from their last salt and burn. His fingers scramble to gather as much of it as he can and then he flings it into her face with all his might. She releases Dean with a screech, the older Winchester falling to the floor hacking roughly. Sam falls to his knees, pulling Dean towards him, protectively hovering over him. She retains her form but the salt begins to eat away into her being, black holes growing in her face and chest.

Her eyes are still fixed on Dean. "I'm not done with you yet!" She hisses angrily as she disappears. Sam relaxes and tunes his full attention to his brother, fingers tracing over the fingermarks already bruising on the pale skin of his neck. He clenches his first as fury washes through him, she stirred the wrong nest of hornets up...she had no idea who she was dealing with!

"I'm guessing she's not a peaceful ghost." Jack says and Dean laughs.

"Basically." He takes Sam's offered hand and pulls himself up, hands rubbing at his sore, abused neck.

"I think I might know who our ghost is." Sam says darkly, mentally running through everything he'd read about the supposed witch, Lana Wagner.

"Great." Dean says sarcastically. "Looks like Christmas is gon be lit...you get it?" He cuts his eyes at Sam and Jack. "...Cuz we gonna have to salt and burn something."

Sam gives him a bewildered but flat look, "Yeah, just..."

"No?" Dean asks, shrugging. "Okay."

. . .

Sam leads the way to the lobby where he shows Dean and Jack the portrait of Lana Wagner and the articles relaying the details of her brutal murder. Dean's face is a mask off horror as he reads. Sam too feels nothing but pity in his heart thinking of Lana being burned alive.

"I've seen my fair share of gory, unjust things, but I've never burned anyone alive."

"Well there was that one witch..." Sam starts. Dean gives him an exasperated look.

"C'mon Sam, she was like a million years old, that's a whole different story. It's says right here in the article Lana was only rumored to be a witch." He rubs hands over his face, "No wonder she's such a mess."

He turns his attention to the portrait and studies it. It was an exact likeness to the one he'd seen in the room with the ashes and urns.

"Sam. That room I was in before the hallway fiasco had a painting just like this...I think Lana's ashes are there too, in an urn...maybe we need to burn them again. There were urns everywhere...I think she's been killing people. Killing them like how she was killed."

Sam can't even begin to digest what Dean's saying. "Dean, there wasn't a room there. There wasn't even a door. You weren't there one second and then were the next."

"What?" Dean asks, voice shocked, "Are you sure?"

Sam nods, "Dean yes. Me and Jack looked in every room for you. There wasn't a room like that, and where you were standing in the hallway there wasn't a door. Lana materialized through the wall behind you."

"The hell?" They both ask, turning to look at the black and white portrait looking down on them grandiosely, they all three shiver.

. . .

Sam comes back to their room carrying a large rolled up piece of paper. Dean sits at the table packing some extra salt shotgun shells, Jack watching him curiously, still on his first attempting over and over again to do it correctly.

"Whatcha' got?" Dean asks, pausing to sip the whiskey in their room he'd been enjoying pretty much some they'd arrived.

"Asked the staff if there was a floor plan and they gave me this." He waves for Dean to come look. "They gave me some older ones from when the house was still family owned too, guess they thought I was a history geek or something." He shakes his head and begins to spread the floor plan out on the floor between the couches since Dean has taken up the space of the table.

Dean snorts, "Well they hit that spot on."

Sam portrays an excellent bitch face. Dean sits indian style on the floor with Sam in front of the floor plan and they trace their footsteps back to the book room where Dean had bored them a drink. Sam feels something ugly twist inside him as he taps a finger on the paper, finding what he feared to be true.

"See?" He looks at Dean, "There's not a room there."

"Sammy, I swear I was in it though." Dean says, peering at the map stumped. "I mean I was actually gone right? Like she didn't just transport my consciousness somewhere or something?"

Sam shakes his head, "You were definitely gone, me and Jack both looked for you."

Jack joins them on the floor, carefully crossing his legs like theirs, resting his hands on his knees, looking over the floor plan contemplatively. "Maybe it's not there anymore."

"Yeah, you're not kidding." Sam says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as was his wont when he's stressed.

"No wait." Dean says, "Jack's got a point." He grabs the floor plan and throws it to the side, exposing the older house plans underneath it. "It's not there anymore sure, but the house could have been renovated. The room could be on the original floor plan."

Sam's attention is efficiently arrested. He leans over Dean's lap and peruses the dusty paper. "Excuse you." Dean says drily, by now used to and expecting Sam's antics over research.

"It's there." Sam says, voice hushed in amaze.

"Wait really?" Dean pushes him off and leans forward himself to see, Sam frowns at him but says nothing grabbing his iPad so he could learn everything possible about the house, Lana Wagner, and her tragic murder.

"I would be pissed off if I got killed like that too." Dean says, "But returning the favor to innocents, that's inexcusable."

Sam looks up at the big word. "Look at you."

"Shut up." Dean returns without even looking away from the map. "If she really was a witch she must have had an work space, or creepy damp cellar like other witches."

That makes Sam pause. "That's what I was trying to tell you when I figured out you were missing earlier. There were old occult books in that book room, and when I say old, I mean old, like rare and powerful."

"So definitely a witch." Dean states.

"I'd say so." Sam nods, "She came and got you, which I think means we must have been getting a little too close for home. Her lair has to be down that hallway somewhere. She wouldn't have those books too faraway from where she preformed spells or seances."

Dean nods, "Then tonight we go find it. And hope we don't get barbecued...too bad we can't just torch the whole place."

Sam sends him a hard look. Dean holds up his hands.

"Just saying."

...tbc

Yass a chapter! REVIEW!? (I love this ghost!)

(((((( Dearhart, idk how many chapters this will be. But with the terrible track record I have over the past few months if I finish this story it will be a miracle. So I def need luck. :(:(:( ;););))))))


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

After a supper in their room of delicious roasted beef sandwiches, which Dean was still licking his fingers from much to Sam's disgust as he picks up their _only_ shot gun, they head out to traipse through the winding hallways of the house. Jack between them, wide eyes and tense with excitement, the Winchester boy's faces grim and set in determination.

Dean can still feel the icy echoes of her touch on his skin and it disgusts him, he can't wait to get his hands on her magic and her ashes and light up all of it, smirking at her triumphantly all the time. He grips the shot gun tighter and sends Sam a hard look, one his brother easily interprets... _let's get this done_ , _let's end her evil that has been going on way too long_.

Though set on their purpose the novelty of their situation is too hilarious for Dean. The house standard Victorian horror, the ghost classic in the most terribly beautiful way and the haunting and her murder almost story book material. And them of course, trying to have a peaceful Christmas dragged into the center of it all in standard Winchester screwed up fashion.

He chuckles and Sam and Jack both look to him questioningly, "Sorry, it's just too hilarious, our lives are in the trash can for real."

Sam sends him a fond, knowing, sarcastic look, "There's not another way you'd want to spend Christmas Eve and you know it."

Dean snorts and Jack brings his eyes brows together in confusion. "So this isn't Christmas?"

Dean groans and smacks himself on the forehead with his hand, "Now we're screwed for real, Jack's first Christmas is ruined." He stops completely and turns to Jack, "This is a terrible Christmas...under no circumstances should you work or hunt ghosts on Christmas Eve."

"Bu.." Jack starts and Dean holds up a finger.

"...Unless you are a Winchester or with a Winchester."

Sam groans, "Would you two come on? If we get this done we can still have an awesome Christmas. Our ghostly friend seemed way too interested in you for comfort Dean, I'd say you're her target let's hurry up and deal with her before she barbecues you."

Dean shivers, "Ugh...Sammy, so insensitive." He walks on down the hallways like he'd never stopped, like they didn't just have one of the most ridiculous and pointless conversations ever. He rolls his eyes and treks after Dean, heart for some reason heavy in his chest...a foreboding feeling telling him this wasn't going to end well.

They arrive in the hallway of this morning's strange happenings and step into the book room, which creepily enough still has a strong fire burning in the fireplace. They make this their strong point, Dean and Sam close off the door with salt, they each pat their pockets making sure they have iron on hand, and Sam gives one to Jack.

"So the room you were in has to be next door." He says, both hands on his hips, brows furrowed and Dean nods.

"Yeah, but you're right, there's no door for sure..."

"There has to be another way in, if it really meant that much to her, she wouldn't just allow it to simply be closed off." Sam muses walking over to the fireplace, looking for a lever or switch or something. He goes over to where he had found the occult books and studies the area carefully.

It was in the darkest corner of the room behind the open door, and his fingers run through dust and god knows what feeling for anything. Suddenly a book catches his eye, it's probably older then all the others, but what catches his attention is the dust in front of it, while the other books had obviously be taken out and looked out at some point in time, a pile of grime and dust bunnies were gathered in front of this book.

He reaches up and pulls. A clicking sound resounds through the quiet, Dean tenses and braces himself, Sam takes a step back. They can hear levers and cogs turning and slowly the whole book shelf begins swinging forwards out of the wall. A secret door.

"Awesome." Dean gusts, and Sam looks back over his shoulder to find an excited grin on his older brother's face. Shaking his head he fishes his flashlight out of his coat pocket, Dean following doing the same, motioning for Jack to follow...slowly they enter the dark, stuffy passage that slants down.

It smells like dirt and age and dry rot, but it's definitely not the grossest secret passage they've had to traverse. It's not quite wide enough for Sam and Dean's wide shoulders but you can't really expect a woman witch to build her passage according to the huge hunters who would eventually come to end her permanently.

"We're coming to the end I think," Sam says hushed, turning his head to speak to Dean swiftly and then turning and tightening his grip on the iron bar in his hand and readying hisself. The passage ends in a small doorway, nothing blocking the way as they enter a room, pretty basic in build, rustic wood walls and pillars but there was some shoddy, but once nice furniture there.

The fire is burning brightly, the moon shining in eerily from a window set high in the ceiling, they must be in the basement or a cellar or something. Both Dean and Sam feel their stomachs tighten, their escape route was limited to the stuffy passage way that would do little to aide them if they were in danger.

Shelves and book cases are filled with jars of herbs and other witchcrafty materials. Sam marvels at the exotic treasure store here, she died before she could cause any real damage it would seem. The book lying on a stand and by the fire place big and old, a velvet bookmark lying in the middle open to the page.

Sam can't translate it by sight, doesn't even know if he's ever seen the written language...basically they were dealing with a witch and ghost way above their league. She probably made preparations for her death, she was probably abnormally strong and powerful even for a ghost.

"Dean, I don't like this..." he starts, about to warn his brother that they needed to get out of here ASAP before the room goes icy cold and the fire snaps and flashes crazily, wind filling the dusty space, making the boys'' cough and shield their eyes.

 _There must be a door here somewhere that leads to the room Dean had been in_ , Sam thinks frantically, they needed to get in there and torch her ashes but they also needed to know more about her death...she'd already been burned what if torching her ashes did nothing? Where would a piece of her be, a piece that would hold her to this earth?

They watch as she materializes in front of the fireplace, face dark with fury, eyes terrifying and malignant in her rage. He can only imagine her murderous urges being increased by their presence in her special place. He finds himself immediately placing himself between her and Dean, he didn't want to take any chances.

Dean snorts, pushing past him, with a glance no one else but Sam would have noticed. He knows Dean is going to try and keep her distracted so Sam can find something, anything to help end her and make this trip not be utterly pointless.

"Long time no see Lana."

Her head snaps to Dean's face, a grin growing, showing rotting teeth. "So you did your research..." she claps her hands slowly, sarcastically... "That's hunters for you."

"Your tone is offensive," Dean says casually, brushing some dust off his sleeve, "But I don't see anything stupid about being careful and knowing everything you possibly can before facing something potentially dangerous."

Her eyes slit, "Hunters are insufferably stupid because they fight the natural order of things, they try to right wrongs and make judgements all on their own...as if they have that authority. Ignorance and arrogance is all they have."

"Making judgements...are you telling me hunters were the ones who offed you?" Dean asks, stepping closer to her, had noticed how his fearlessness and freshness of attitude seemed to capture her attention.

She brands her teeth at him, hissing, "Yes! Stole into my home in the middle of the night like cowards, six men against one woman..."

Dean has to admit that was pretty dirty. He can feel Sam tense at the words, knows his brother hates rash and cruel hunters, hunters who kept to the profession simply for the excuse to kill.

"And they burned you alive?" He asks straight out, she clenches her fists, eyes distant and darkening more by the second...Dean swears he can see the flames flickering in them.

"They dragged me from my bed, stripped me of my clothes and made me walk down to the lake...tied me to a stone veranda and covered me with gasoline...burned fire wood and hay until I was gone, until there was nothing left but ashes."

"Hunters might be stupid...but they still got you." Dean says, and Sam can hear the grin in them, he's trying antagonize her, attack that narcissistic part of her that makes her believe she is better than anybody else.

He only half listens to the conversation, but he laughs under his breath at Dean's words as he backs away slowly and begins to run eyes over every single inch of the room. He knows since they've come down to the cellar from the book room there must be stairs or even another passage leading to the room filled with ashes according to Dean.

There's a Persian rug hanging like a tapestry on the wall, towards the edge it bends inwards just a little, just so Sam catches the shadow of the indentation. That must be (badly) covering another door.

"Cover me." He hisses to Jack, to which the boy looks more bewildered than anything which did nothing to reassure Sam that this wasn't an epically horrible idea, leaving Dean to try and fend off the powerful spirit as Sam makes a break for her ashes. He fears this plan even more, he hopes and prays this doesn't end up being the worst idea he's ever had...paying for it with Dean's life.

He moves softly and slips under the tapestry...as he guessed he's faced with dusty dark stairs, he prays to god they don't break underneath his weight. He stays close the wall and rushes up, with his shoulder against the waiting door he breaks into the room. He lands on his ass in the dust coughing in the midst of hundreds or urns.

Shit.

He gags. Dean was right, she was seriously messed up. He didn't even want to count the urns which would let him know just how many innocents she had dragged down with her. He jumps up, pushing all these thoughts down for later and grabs the urn off the mantel piece and tosses it into the cold fireplace, spraying his bottle of lighter fluid on it liberally and lighting half a pack of matches and throwing it in.

An ear shattering screech goes up, immediately followed by a shuttering of the whole structure. Sam stumbles and falls forward on his hands, pushing himself up lightening fast he dashes through the broken door and down the stairs without sparing them a single thought this time.

He bursts into the room, Jack is on the floor, rubbing the back of his head looking confused as to how he got there. The younger Winchester's eyes widen searching around the room for his brother. He catches the sight of white cloth sweeping around the corner of the passage way. He slips in his hurried panic, turning the corner too fast and rams his shoulder into the wall painfully.

"Dean!" He yells, running down the passage as fast he can.

He gasps as he comes to the end, the book shelves already sliding closed. She stands there grinning at him, eyes alight with delight at his anguished expression...Dean lies at her feet, still and eyes shut.

"Try again hunter." She hisses, and then the door shuts with a muffled bang closing Sam and Jack in...and the ghost and Dean out.

...tbc

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Only one or two more chapters left. :):)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

Dean comes to shivering with cold. It's dark around him, the bare dark blue of dawn tinting the surrounding horizon through the tree branches above him. He struggles against the tight grip of power he feels around him and he yells in surprise as he is tossed to the ground, wet grass in his mouth as he pushes himself up spitting, with his head spinning.

Lana is over him the moment he sits up pushing him into the ground with an unseeable massive force. He fears for Sam as he feels the depths and possibilities of her old power. He coughs, squeezing his eyes closed against the dizziness, swallows determined not to throw up.

The last thing he remembers is being in the cellar, her body had glowed with fire, she had almost disappeared and then she had screeched, a wall of energy ramming into him and Jack and shaking the house to its foundation. Then she had surged at him, her rotting hand twisting in his hair and ramming his head backwards into the floor, once, twice...and then blackness covered his mind.

He looks up from his place on the ground, before him the sky is getting lighter, making the lake glow and in dark contrast against light rises a stone gazebo with a rounded top and black charred pillars. He groans and shakes his head, trying to clear it, realizing this was the place she had been burned...and that she meant to do the same to him.

He grits his teeth and pushes himself up, fingers scrambling in his pocket for the iron he had. He sways once on his feet, but he looks around for her, eyes fixing on her transparent figure. She's gathered wood in the middle of the gazebo, and he doesn't even think to try and figure out where a ghost got so much gasoline.

Their eyes meet and Dean knows he doesn't have long, either this buys him a few minutes or she does what she wishes with him...he chunks the iron bar at her, it hurtles through her face as she speeds towards him.

"Go to hell bitch!" He yells, panting as the effort it took to throw the bar so perfectly makes his head spin.

She screeches and disappears and his shoulders slump in relief, he pats his pockets down looking for his phone to call Sam knowing she wouldn't be gone for long. As he turns back towards the house he feels the chill behind him...the claw like hand wrapping around his throat, lovingly but strong as death.

He can feel her lips moving against his ear, "As much as I love your fighting spirit...That. Hurt."

She simply moves her arm and he flies towards the stone gazebo, the surprise makes his eyes go wide as he watches the dark blue sky and trees above him, all goes black with an agonizing crack that he feels straight down to the core of his brain.

. . .

"Dean!?" Sam yells, as his shoulder pounds into the hidden door once again. His bones are groaning with the strain and he can feel the ache coming to his chest...shit what was he going to do...they were trapped down here. And Dean was out there, vulnerable and wounded with that psycho bitch ghost. He was going crazy...he was going to go crazy.

"Sam!" Jack calls, his voice somehow a calming bulwark amidst the panic eating away at his judgement. He bangs his shoulders with every step hurrying back down the passage and finds Jack is in the middle of the room the old plans for the house spread on the floor in front of him, he kneels over them looking over them.

Sam had forgotten they had those with them, he falls to his knees across from Jack as the boy points to something on the plans. But not in the house. It's plans for a stone veranda out in the garden beside the 'lake' (what Sam knew was really a large pond but lake did sound nicer. _Not the point Sam,_ he slaps himself mentally.) The veranda sat down hill from the house, a little west of their position now.

 _This is it._ He thinks. _This is what is keeping her here_...something at that place down by the lake...the place where she was so cruelly murdered. They need to torch it, torch the whole thing...and they needed to do it before she torched Dean there...just like her.

"This is where she must be taking him." Jack says, tapping his finger on the paper.

Sam feels relief flood through him before his hands run through his hair stressfully and he looks around them. "We're trapped down here. We're no good to him here."

He gets up, grabs the large book off its stand and shuts it with a slam, using it to shatter the window panes set high in the wall. It was a tight fit but this was his brother's life at stake, a few cuts wouldn't kill either of them. He does his best to break all the glass out and then uses a book shelf and his upper body muscles to pull himself up and through the window and into the cold night.

He turns motioning for Jack to follow and grabs his wrists, pulling the boy up and out after him. They both stand gasping lungfuls of the clear, fresh air as the silence descends on them. Sam's eyes adjust to the gathering gloom of early morning when he hears just the echoes of that voice he'd recognize anywhere.

He shoots off into the trees almost faster than Jack's eye could follow.

 _It's a beautiful cold day. The air is clear and sharp in Sam's lungs, burns as he breathes in and out fast, running through the woods down hill. There's only one thought in his mind: Dean Dean Dean Dean...get to Dean. All he can hear is his thudding heart and pounding footfalls, fir tree branches fly by in a blur, sweeping branches leave stinging scratches on his cheeks._

 _He can see the clearing ahead. The stone gazebo comes into view, vines growing up it covering most of the rock, the floor though is there still cinder burned, black marks licking up the sides of the columns proof of the terrible tragedy so many years ago. The ground is soft and wet, the morning still new, foggy and dusky blue. Sam's breath clouds in front of him as he arrives, standing panting, eyes sharp and frantically searching his brother out._

 _He spots the pale, white specter floating gracefully above the muddy earth, dusty rags tossing in the bitter winter wind. She's the classic ghost, terrifying and old, white caked skin and eyes surrounded by black, raven hair sweeping past her waist and matted into long flat pieces. Her anger had been festering long, and the smell of death and decay follows her, spots of mold and dampness eating away at her skin._

 _Sam finds his brother's figure at the steps of the gazebo, his body is prone, blood growing under his temple lying against the edge of the top step. Shit. He moves to rush to his brother's side but as soon as he steps forward to enter the circle of the clearing around the gazebo he hits what feels like a wall._

 _He hisses in pain, his eyes watering with the impact. He puts his hand out, then the other both fists thudding frantically against the invisible barrier. Jack comes up panting behind him, couldn't have possibly kept up with Sam's long legs as the younger Winchester flew to his brother with the tug on his soul strings. The boy's eyes widen at the scene before him._

 _Sam screams in frustration and terror and the ghost turns and flashes a malevolent grin, her calm float drifting towards Dean._

 _"Don't you dare go near him, you Bitch!" He screams, banging his fists into the protective force field she's placed around her sanctum. "Get your disgusting hands off him!"_

 _She smiles slyly at Sam again, as she runs long cold fingers down Dean's still features and then into the blood pooled on the stone. She slips two blood coated fingers into her dark slim mouth, and sucks the precious liquid off, flashing her now crimson teeth at the younger Winchester._

 _"He's mine." She says, voice eerie and high, floating and echoing in the wind, "You will never see him again." She moves in Sam's view, his brother disappears from his sight, covered by the dirty white rags of the ghost._

 _"Dean!" He screams, "Dean wake up! Let him go!" He's ceaselessly pounding on the barrier, doesn't notice his blood splatter in thin air from split knuckles on the invisible wall._

 _"Dean you have to wake up for me...please!"_

Her thin hand latches onto Dean's still shoulder and drags him up under the dome ceiling of the gazebo and proceeds to pulls his arms up, ties his hands above him and then around a pillar. The one covered with the deepest black, where the fire had burned the hottest...where it had melted the very flesh from her bones.

"No!" He yells. Hands banging on the invisible wall again, "Come and get us you bitch, you want all of us don't you!?"

She only ignores him.

"Sam." Jack says behind him quietly, and it startles Sam. He jumps, forgetting Jack was behind him. "Stand back." He says straight forward and calm and with the quiet confidence in his eyes and posture Sam doesn't question...he steps back.

Jack places both hands flat against the invisible barrier. Closes his eyes, Sam can almost hear himself gathering his mind and emotions...the moments pass by slow and Jack's eyes open.

Gold glows from his usually beautiful blue eyes and waves of pure gold power wash over the unseeable wall. Lana's head jerks to look up, distracting her from Dean...her eyes widen and then with a thunderous boom, cracks appear in the unseeable wall and Sam saves his amazement for later as he rushes in, towards his brother and the witch.

She looks at him, the look on her face uninterpretable; resigned, amazed... Sam doesn't understood what could have inspired this look on her face _after_ what Jack had done...he looks down and sees Dean's eyes barely open...and then the fire whooshes to life, the heat blasting Sam back on his ass and he scrambles backwards as the gasoline more or less explodes.

"Nooo!" He screams, hands in front of his face as the heat pushes him back even as he tries to get up and go to his brother's aide. He's helpless to do anything, soul and heart trembling and crumbling in on themselves, "Dean, nooooo...!"

...tbc

One last chapter! REVIEW!?

How y'all like that cliffy? ;);):):)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

A painful tugging at his arms brought Dean back to consciousness and through blurry vision he can see Sam and Jack standing not too far off, screaming at him. It doesn't take clear eyesight to be able to understand that somehow the ghost has created a force field around them.

"Ow." He hisses, as he looks over his shoulder spotting the woman ghost behind him hoisting him higher, just barely above the wood doused with gasoline. "Lemme go..." he struggles but freezes as gold flashing light glows over them and around...Jack. Her grip loosens and the rope falls some, allowing him to shakily land on his feet, arms still bound above him.

The witch ghost wails and screeches as the cracks appear in the invisible wall like its breaking and shattering something inside her too...it probably was. He wrenches his hands trying to free them as Jack's power simply crushes hers. Watching her come towards him and with trembling hands trying to light matches, he knows this is their only chance to end her.

He thought for sure there was something about this gazebo that was keeping her tethered to this world...but what? She had surely burned all those other poor souls here...the refining fire should have eradicated her being. But still she was here...Dean thought for sure she had to be burned one last time in this place...she herself...not another person, not simply burn the gazebo. But burn her here in the place one last time, the place where she had died all those years ago, where her anger and bitterness was born.

His hand shoots from his binds like lightening, finds the lighter there in his pocket where it always is...their eyes connect as he flicks it open and it ignites, her eyes filled with realization that she'd been bested and amazement. She turns to look out towards the house one last time before Dean let's the lighter drop and hell consumes them.

. . .

Sam can't even breathe...how did the fire even start? He hadn't seen Lana with a flame...did that mean? Did Dean see his chance to end her and take it? His very soul aches with that though...his beautiful priceless brother sacrificing himself once again.

Lana Wagner's last screeches of pain and torture echo into the cold still morning and then all is quiet...as Sam had thought...she was gone forever now...as was his brother.

The fire still burned hot and Sam paces impatiently and distracted to the point of insanity in front it...This was impossible, Dean couldn't go like this, not some dumb ghost who had somehow bested them...not on Christmas...jesus, not on Christmas!

"Aghhhhhh!" He screams at the sky, hands fisted so tightly blood was welling up in his palms. How the hell did to end up like this?

"Sam?"

The call stills everything. Everything around him, everything in him, every thought...his very heart beat. That voice he would know any where, any time...no matter how many times over his was supposed to be dead, Sam would always know Dean's voice.

"Dean?" He answers, voice almost screeching. His feet rush around the still glowing hot gazebo and into the brush behind it. There he can see a form struggling to rise in the gathering light.

A relieved laugh breaks from his mouth at the sight of Dean, half soaked from falling into the edge of the lake, trying to get back on land and at the same time untangle thorns from his clothes.

"Don't just stand there." He growls, "This freaking hurts."

Sam rushes towards him with gratefulness catching on a lump in his throat. He grabs his brother's arm and pulls him from the water, once he stands there shivering and dripping Sam gently unwinds the thorns from his pants and jacket.

Dean stands still for him as he looks him over making sure he was indeed alive, and okay...the tip of Dean's ear is burned, pretty bad. But that was it, Sam feels another amazed, crazy laugh bubble up from within him.

He fingers the bloody gash in Dean's hairline tenderly, making sure it wasn't too bad, he fishes a bandana from his pocket and presses it too the still gushing head wound, Dean grimaces but takes over, holding it there, sopping up the blood.

"How?" Sam asks simply.

Dean shakes his head, swallowing around the roughness in his throat from being so close to the hot fire and the freezing water in the dead of winter. "Figured she'd have to be in the gazebo thing while it burn for it to work, since she's been burning people in there for a while. Dropped my lighter and dived head first out of there...it's actually really lucky the water was there...don't know how much more my poor head could've taken."

He laughs looking to Sam, both their eyes alive and glowing with the high of the hunt, it's accomplished and they're both still here...eyes glow with the relief and hidden tears of thankfulness. Sam simply grips him in his embrace, wrapping his arms securely around his brother and burying his face in the nook of his neck and shoulder.

"Don't do that again." He muffles from his hiding place.

Dean returns the hug, hands rubbing soothingly on his back, "Okay Samantha. It's Christmas, how bad could it have been?"

Sam doesn't want to think about that answer.

. . .

There is no describing the relief Sam feels when he sees Dean come out of the shower, this time dripping with warm water and drying his now bloodless hair. His brother comes over to sit beside him on the couch, slipping on one of Sam's t-shirts because he didn't pack enough. The room is warm and quiet and now safe around them.

Dean sighs happily, and doesn't complain as Sam produces as butterfly bandage and gently cleans and bandages the wound on his head. Just as he finishes Jack comes back to the room from Dean's 'important' mission he'd sent him on. In his hands he's got a pitcher and three glasses stacked precariously.

"I was successful!" He beams coming towards them and placing the eggnog on the coffee table in front of them.

Dean claps him loudly on the back, smiling broadly. "Yes!" Fisting his hand and giving it a pump, "Personally this is my favorite part of Christmas."

Sam gives him a fond smile and gets up only to return with the bottle of rum from from the tray if liquor decanters. Dean grins at him mischievously, "Sammy, I'm surprised at you...but proud."

Sam rolls his eyes. "I need a drink after everything you put me through."

Dean rolls his eyes too, shoving Sam playfully as he comes to sit beside him in the couch. Dean takes the rum from him and pours a healthy shot into each of their glasses.

"You're too stingy and uptight to pour the liquor." He tells Sam, eyes twinkling.

"Whatever." Sam mumbles, no feeling like arguing with his sibling, simply glad he's there. He pours eggnog up to the brim of all three of their glasses and they each take one. Holding them and clinking them together companionably, Jack kneeling on the floor leaning over the coffee table.

"Merry Christmas Sammy." Dean says, a fond smile on his lips, "Merry Christmas Jack."

"Merry Christmas." They echo and then the room is silent as they all drink eagerly.

"This is amazing." Jack says breathlessly, finally having to breathe, sporting a creamy mustache.

"What did I tell you." Dean says, licking his lips and sitting back in the couch, burrowing his cold toes up under Sam's thigh. He gives him a dirty look but doesn't say anything.

"By the way Jack." Dean says, "Good job out there, thank you. You saved my life, you know?" He gives Jack a genuine smile with serious eyes, letting Sam know he's aware how close a call he really had.

"I like Christmas." Jack says, matter of factly, "This is definitely a good Christmas."

Dean and Sam exchange knowing, abhorred looks...this was the lamest Christmas they'd ever had and that was saying something, but with the happy smile on Jack's face and the peace and satisfaction in their own hearts they figure they didn't entirely screw it up.

...the end.

There it is guys! All finished! Can't believe it, really I can't. ITS THE LAST CHAPTER SOOO...REVIEW!?

(((I kno this might have felt a little rushed in the ending. But honestly I'm just glad to have it done after this rough patch I've had :(:( hopefully there will be more stories but thank you so much to all my readers and reviewers who stuck with me...I love you guys and you are 100% why I keep writing and posting on here! Thank you, thank you, thank you!)))

Who's excited for Wayward Sisters and whose not? Why yes or why not? Just curious...Lemme know in the comments.


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